Page 31 of One Last Chance

“It’s hung up on the bow of the ship.”

“What?”

“The lifeboat. It’s hung up?—”

“But isn’t there a redundancy on the ship? A lot of boats have lifeboats and a life-raft suitcase. It’s usually at the back, near the rail.”

“Who are you, Captain Ron?”

“Ten thousand lakes. Go check.”

“I can’t, not without leaving the boat.” But maybe it was time. The water had risen to his knees, his feet turning frigid. “I think it’s time to ditch.” Especially since the pressure had hit his ears again. Every ten feet, which meant he might be under by twenty feet. Any deeper and he wouldn’t have enough breath to reach the surface.

“Sparrow?”

“I’m here.”

“Thanks.”

“I’m not going anywhere—I’ll keep trying. Stay alive.”

No promises, but he didn’t say that. “Yep.” Then he shoved the mic into the bag and zipped it, securing the bag across his body.

The water had sloshed up to his thighs, and he popped his ears, then stood at the hatch to the captain’s cabin. Five deep, fast breaths, then another, to fill his body. He shoved on his helmet and reached for the door.

It swung up more easily than he’d expected, and while water gushed in, it didn’t fill the cabin. He scrambled out, up the stairs, into the cabin.

Not filled full, but water seeped in.

Through the windows, the sea gulped the last rays of light. The air had buoyed him, but the ocean would win. And given the froth and current above him, the sea still raged.

Life-raft suitcase. Near the back rail.

He slogged through the water toward the door. Still had breath left, but let it out and took five more quick breaths, then another, deep, then more.

Then he fought open the door.

The ocean blasted into the room, and he held on to the frame as the pressure equalized.

The boat would sink fast now, so he pushed out and grabbed the rail.

Yes—there, the orange life raft, in a suitcase.

Pressure built behind his ears—C’mon?—

He reached for the latch. No frozen hands today, but it slid under his grip. He held the rail, the pressure burning through his brain—and hit the latch again.

The suitcase popped open, and like a balloon, the raft deployed. He grabbed it as it inflated and rode it to the surface as the boat dropped away into the depths.

Then held on with everything inside him as he surfaced into the raging sea.

* * *

She couldn’t just stand here and let him drown.

But thirty minutes since his last transmission said . . .

No, Flynn wasn’t going to jump to conclusions. Except jumping to conclusions was sort of her job—jumping, then sorting through, then jumping again, rinse and repeat until finally she landed on therightconclusion.

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